


In which the Maggot Boy zombies are trolls invading Earth

by NoName (lightworlddrifter)



Category: Homestuck, Maggot Boy
Genre: Maggot boy characters in Homestuck universe AU, Multi, No Sgrub/sburb, Ships added as they come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightworlddrifter/pseuds/NoName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I suck at titles.<br/>Summary:<br/>On an Alternia where sgrub never happened, High blood Daveyy Joanes leaves the planet to further her Imperial Condescension's goal of galactic conquest.</p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://flipsidered.tumblr.com/post/19561242549/maggot-boy-homestuck-cross-over">this</a> art <a>(source)</a>, which was posted in response to the chat log, which was inspired by the post above that which was inspired by a lunch time conversation with my <a href="http://lahulia.tumblr.com">friend</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Observe, and Report

**Author's Note:**

> So, expect updates whenever. Like they really won't be consistent. But yes, expect this to quickly degrade into a Powen fic. Or not? Oooo, mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: fixed some errors, changed Owen's name to fit the 6 letter format and followed Jess's example of removing some slurs. not much changed, just a lil clean up

**== > Be The Sea Dweller.**

Your name is Daveyy Joanes, and after nearly 3 sweeps of traveling you have finally found your first planet. Your crew is small, consisting of the only two people you trust. Your kismesis, Ohweyn, a 7 sweep lime blood stow away and your moirail, Chainy, who convinced you not to cull the fucker as soon as you discovered him.

 

Your mission is simple: Observe, and report. Nothing more. What could possibly go wrong?

 

“Oi, assholes, strap in, we're landin'” Ohweyn shouts from his position at the controls. You grumble, but comply, seating yourself in the captain's chair. You discovered Ohweyn about half a sweep into your journey. Apparently, he had slipped onto your ship while fleeing from culling drones; his lusus had died and the open loading docs of your moderately sized vessel provided a convenient escape route. How he managed to go undetected for so long, you'll never know, but in the past 2 and a half sweeps his navigation skills have proved invaluable, making you glad you left him alive.

“We should be on the planet within the hour,” Chainy speaks up from his side of the cabin.

“Can you get me any information on this planet's inhabitants?” you ask.

“Yeah just a sec,” Chainy fiddles with his display for a second before continuing, “Huh. Weird.”

“What?”

“Well, it's just that the local language of some areas appears to be vaguely Alternian. I mean, the accent’s a bit low class, even if some of the vernacular is upper crust, but otherwise it sounds pretty similar.”

No way. You're pretty sure her Imperial Condescension hasn't made it out this far yet. But why else would natives be speaking your language? That was just some weird plot device used in shitty movies with names too long and complicated to bother remembering. “No fucking way.”

“No, really. Here, I'll send you a video.” You look at the display in front of you, and a blue flashing alerts you to an incoming link from Chainy on your Trollian. You tap it and it leads you to a website. You can't tell what site it's supposed to be though; the script's impossible to read. You have no idea what you're supposed to be looking at. Chainy, sensing your confusion, tells you to click the triangle in the middle of the screen, and the video starts to play.

A young male stands in the center of the screen. He looks almost like a troll, except his skin is tan, his hair brown, and he has no horns. “Weird,” you mutter.

The not-a-troll looks at the camera and says, “Are you sure you won't post this online?”

A voice off-camera replies, “Hell no, PJ, this is going straight to youtube.” You wonder what a youtube is.

The not-a-troll whines, “But Micah...”

The off-camera voice interrupts him, “No. We had a bet. You lost. You owe me now.”

With a sigh, the not-a-troll mutters, “Fine,” before taking a step back and singing some strange foreign song about “single ladies.” It's catchy though, and is a refreshing break from Ohweyn serenading you with all the ways he hopes to horribly maim you while you're sleeping. But that doesn't make it any less surreal. The alien was speaking Alternian, no doubt. Maybe it was just the one...? But there was that off-camera voice too. So maybe there were two of them..? You weren't sure.

“Chainy, can you get a lock on this kid?”

“Sure, why?”

“We're here to observe and report, right?” God, your moirail could be so slow sometimes. “May as well observe someone who speaks our language.”

Chainy smiles slightly, “Right, right,” he says, before turning towards Ohweyn and shouting, “Plot a course for 'Sovereign City.' We'll be setting up base there.”

You're excited to finally be approaching land. And the planet below looks so blue. You hope that there's a proper ocean or lake you can swim in, but you'll be glad to just be out of this tin can. You're nervous and excited at the same time, but you do your best not to show it.

**== > Daveyy: Be the Not-A-Troll**

You are now Parker Jones. Tonight is the third anniversary of your brother's death and you have decided to sneak out to visit him alone. You came earlier with your parents, but sometimes brothers just needed time alone and that was something Mom and Dad didn't quite understand. They became very over protective of you after your brother's accident, so you try not to worry them, but sometimes you just have to get away from it all for a bit.

You brought him his favorite sweatshirt today, which you smuggled out of the attic without your parents knowing. You know he hated- hates- flowers, and you figured this would be more important to him. You place the bright red fabric neatly on the grave, next to the flowers and cards from earlier this morning and imagine him smiling at you, proud that you brought him something he could actually enjoy for once. You sit on his grave and lean against the tombstone, the red sweatshirt right next to you. If you close your eyes, you can pretend he's still right there and alive again, but you don't bother doing that.

You gave up pretending a while ago. You were only 12 when he died, and shortly after that you started to imagine that the city had been attacked by zombies, and that your brother, Davey, came back as a zombie that could think, and he would rush in and save you when you were cornered by the living dead. You know he's not coming back though. You stopped kidding yourself. But that doesn't make missing him hurt any less.

The night air is cool and a gentle breeze tangles your hair. It reminds you of how he used to steal your hat and rough up your hair, so you take this as an invitation to say what's on your mind. “I miss you, Davey,” your eyes start to water a bit, so you close them and tilt your head back against the marble stone, letting the moon light dance on your eyelids. You laugh a little for no reason in particular. “You know, I had this dream last night that you came back... It's funny... I used to have dreams like that every night, but this one felt so real,” the tears start to come freely now, but you keep your eyes closed just the same. “You were different though. You were all grey and purple and sharp, and you had fins, and you weren't even you, not really, just someone who looked a lot like you, and acted a lot like you, but wasn't you.” It was just a stupid dream, you know that, but all the same you felt like it was something to tell him about.

You open your eyes and look at the night sky. “You remember we used to watch stars like this?” A sad smile comes to your lips. “The cemetery was the only place really dark enough to enjoy the night. We used to come here all the time together, you know?” You sniffle a little, and feel stupid for talking to no one, but it helps with the grief a little, so you continue anyway. “Who would've thought that even when you're dead we'd still be able to sit together like this? It's not the same, but it's similar enough.” You place a hand on the sleeve of the red sweatshirt, feeling its familiar softness. “I'm so sorry, Davey.”

You notice a shooting star way up in the sky. “Look at that,” you point for the benefit of no one. “I wish you could be here to see this with me. I don't care if you're a zombie or a ghost, or a freaky fish guy I just wish I could see you again.” You pick up the red fabric and hold it to your face, sobbing quietly.

You rub your eyes and look up at the sky again. Suddenly you have to squint, because is it just you or is that shooting star getting brighter? And bigger... No... Closer. It's getting closer. It suddenly occurs to you that it wasn't a star at all. What if it was a plane? You begin to panic. You can hear the loud muffled crash of the star/plane thing landing not too far off. Maybe three miles? You rode your bike to the cemetery, so you could make it there pretty quick.

Without even thinking you run to your bike, still clinging to your brother's sweatshirt, and speed off to investigate the fallen air craft.

**== > Ohweyn: Land Already**

You cannot land already because you do not know how.

No one on this ship does, not really. It's like her imperial condescension was just trying to kill off the high blooded prick you have the “honor” of calling captain. Who sends a barely adult high blood out on a recon mission with only one crew member? Nobody, that's who. These fuckers were lucky you stowed away when you did. When you were finally discovered they were hopelessly lost and had no clue how to steer a ship like this properly. Countless hours of flarping as the elite star-ship pilot Maneuver had prepared you for anything. You single-handedly saved their asses while navigating an asteroid field 3 weeks ago and the ship never moved as smoothly as it did with you behind the controls.

You were the best pilot. It was you. Unfortunately, landing was never something you got to practice. Atmosphere re-entry was easy enough, as was going towards the co-ordinates Chainy had sent to you, but when it finally comes time to touch the ground, you freak.

In the ensuing chaos, everything is a blur. You hear Daveyy's threats “gouge your fucking sight orbs out of your goddamn skull” mixed in with Chainy's annoying “Shooshing” sounds as he tries to pacify the irate troll, but you do your best to ignore them. You're coming in fast and you need to regain your cool so you don't die on this shit hole of a planet. The last thing you want to do is die on some backwoods nowhere planet before you get the chance to even fuck shit up a little.

“HOLD YOUR TITS, LADIES, WE'RE GOIN' DOWN,” you manage to shout above Daveyy and Chainy's bickering as you begin ease the ship upwards again just before you impact the ground beneath you. You manage to soften the blow, but you still skirt along the ground before plowing to a stop, leaving a pretty decent crater in your wake. The ship's probably ruined but fuck if you care. You're alive, and that's all that really matters.

You close your eyes and allow yourself some rest.

**== > PJ: Investigate**

Before you even pull up to the crash site you can hear two voices shouting.

“O? O, are you alright? Fuck, O, wake up,” shouts the first voice.

The second voice, a little quieter, but still loud enough to hear, cuts in, “He was at the front of the ship when it went down, he's lost a lot of blood and-”

“Shut up!” the first voice interrupts. “Help me pull him out of here.”

You speed up, and as you slow to a stop you see two figures working to pull a third one out of the rubble. They carry him out of the crater and you freeze as they step into the moonlight.

The creatures before you are grey, just like Davey was in your dream. Except only one of them has fins. They have bright horns on top of their heads, and the shorter one being carried between the two is covered in green liquid. The air smells heavily of blood, but there's not a drop of red in sight.

The aliens spot you before you can turn to run, and the fishy one just stares and says, “Oh fuck.”

You freeze. Aliens. These are aliens. And they're speaking English? That was something that only happened in bad sci-fi films with names too stupid to bother remembering. Movement returns to your feet though as it dawns on you that the green one might be hurt. Forgetting all fear, you walk up to the sticky green covered alien. “Is he okay?” You ask the fishy one. He looks so much like Davey, but you push that thought out of your head because you're trained in first aid, and if this guy is hurt you want to help him, and you can't let stuff like that distract you right now.

The fishy alien gapes at you and the one behind you, the really tall one, answers. “He's hurt bad, but if we can stop the bleeding he'll be fine.”

You look at the sweatshirt in your hand, realizing for the first time that you never put it down, and mutter “Sorry, Davey,” before you pull your pocket knife from the keychain on your hip and use it to rip the precious article of clothing into makeshift bandages. It's harder than it looks; your knife is dull, and the sweatshirt is durable, but you manage. You step towards the bleeding alien, and start to take off his shirt. It has what looks like a green smiley face on it, which you find strange. The fishy alien starts to say something, but the tall one cuts him off, and tells him to set Owen down. That must be the name of the green alien, you decide. His torso is oozing the sticky green which you assume is his blood, so after cleaning what you can, you wrap it up tight with strips of red, and after a quick once over, he appears to be alright everywhere else.

After about 10 minutes you finally say, “I think he'll be okay.”

The fishy alien grabs Owen and holds him close, and says to him, “If you die on me I will bring your lime blooded ass back to life and fucking kill you, you hear me?”

The tall one puts his hands in his pockets and mutters, “So much for observing undetected.”

You really wish you knew what had just happened. 


	2. Chainy gets stuff done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A base is somewhat established, and everyone gets some rest.

**== > Chainy: Asses your situation**

Your only job on this mission was to observe and report. Observe and report. Report and observe. The mantra had been repeated nearly thousands of times during the sweeps long journey, and yet you still managed to mess things up before you were even really settled on this planet. You did everything right. After learning of this planet's diurnal nature, you made sure to land at night, close to your target's residency, but far enough away to not attract attention. You admit, the landing had been... rougher than necessary, but no one was hurt too badly. Ohweyn would have been fine without the native's assistance, though it was not unwelcome.

 

But of course with your luck the first native you meet on this world happened to be your target for observation. What was he even doing this far from his hive while the rest of his species was sleeping? It was like fate was playing some sick and twisted game with your head and there was nothing you could really do to stop it.

 

He told you his name was PJ, which you already knew, and that his hive wasn't too far from here, which you already knew.

 

“There's a small abandoned aircraft hangar you guys can stay in close by,” he had said. He said he and his older brother used to go there often. You aren't really sure what a brother is, but from the brief investigations you were able to complete before Ohweyn's graceful landing, you are pretty sure it's just a human thing. You think that's what they're called. Humans. You'll have to ask later.

 

You wonder if your husktop survived the “landing.” You really don't want to call it a crash. You really don't want to admit your team of three is as incompetent as it really is. You're pretty sure they let you go off-world with so little training, so soon after reaching adulthood just so they could get rid of you. Daveyy could be a bit... much at times, but as a sea-dweller, they couldn't exactly cull him. You feel like giving him the “high honors” of being the first to survey a new planet was the easiest way to get him out of their hair. But you would never let him know that. He'd take it like a punch to the pride glands. That is to say, not very well.

 

You noticed PJ can really talk a lot. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. On the way to the hive you were currently residing in, he had explained that this side of town wasn't exactly very populated. “People think this side of the city is haunted,” he had said. “You know, like with ghosts and stuff.” You had merely nodded and muttered something vaguely resembling “uh-huh.” You were too busy trying to memorize the path from here to your ship to explain that you knew what haunted meant, and that if you didn't then you probably wouldn't know what ghosts were either, making his explanation sort of useless. He went on to say that he lived on the other side of town, which you already knew, and that it was lucky he had snuck out to visit his brother, because otherwise he wouldn't have been here to help. You didn't bother to contradict him. His help had been useful, and now that you're thinking about it, you might be able to learn even more about the culture of this world by cultivating a close relationship with one of its inhabitants, rather than just observing them. If nothing else, it would be far more entertaining.

 

When you had reached the hive, PJ asked if he should run to his “house” to get pillows and blankets and things. You wondered why he would need to run when he had a perfectly functional two wheeled device with him, but you didn't mention it. You simply declined his offer and asked for his assistance in building a pile out of the debris for your injured friend. Once it was clear Ohweyn would be okay, Daveyy had haphazardly slung him over one shoulder and carried him here. You thanked PJ for his help, who, noticing the time, promised to be by tomorrow to check on you all. Now, it was just you, Daveyy, and a sleeping Ohweyn.

 

“Well,” you turn towards Daveyy, “We better go and see what we can do about our ship.” He nods in agreement, and the two of you make the 15 minute walk back to the wreckage.

 

There's not as much damage done as you initially suspected. The front cabin's mangled to hell and back, but once inside, you notice that most of your stuff is intact. You and Daveyy work on captalouging the essentials. Your recuperacoons, extra sopor slime, rations, clothes, husktops. When you first planed on leaving the planet, you had enough supplies for four people, just in case. Daveyy said it was stupid to take on so much stuff, but after discovering Ohweyn you were glad you had the foresight. You hope most of your technology actually works still. It would be a shame to go without some form of communication for the evening, and you'd like to continue with your research on this planet.

 

Between you and Daveyy you're able to get most of your personal belongings back to your new hive. It's nice enough. It's secluded and if it's truly abandoned like PJ said, then it would make a great place to permanently set up your base on this planet. That would require moving your ship though, and you're not sure if you can get it airborne again. Actually, you're pretty sure that ship is going nowhere fast.

 

You unpack a spare recuperacoon and fill it with the slime. “Come on Daveyy, the night's about to end, so we better make sure the kid gets a proper day's sleep.” You gesture to Ohweyn, who's still out cold in an uncomfortable looking pile of debris.

 

“Sure, whatever,” he responds. He's tired and you can tell, but he's trying to not let on. You each grab an end of Ohweyn and hoist him into the 'coon. He sinks in with a sploosh noise, and you can see his face relax. Daveyy looks at you, his eyes weary with the evening's events. “What do you think we should do about the ship?”

 

You shrug. “I guess we can just leave it there, for now.” Daveyy begins to unpack his own 'coon, so you help him out with that. “We've covered our tracks pretty well, and the ships defense system deletes any data when it detects unauthorized foreign life forms. I say we just let the natives find it. It's useless to us now.”

 

“What do you mean useless to us now?” Daveyy looks up from pouring the slime into his 'coon to give you a look.

 

You begin to unpack your stuff before continuing. “I have all of our data backed up onto my husktop, and judging by my preliminary investigations, the technology here is advanced enough that we should be able to modify it to establish communications in about half a sweep if need be.”

 

He seems satisfied with your answer. You pat him on the shoulder and he relaxes under your touch. “Don't worry about it, alright?” you say to him. “I've got it covered. Let's just all get some rest and take care of it in the morning.”

 

He sighs. “Alright,” he says, before climbing into his own recuperacoon and drifting off to sleep.

 

As his moirail, you feel bad for lying to him. Not really lying, per se. The data will automatically delete itself, and you do have it backed up, that much is true. But you know it'll take much longer than half a sweep to establish communications. You never mentioned it to Daveyy or Ohweyn, but communications had been down on your ship ever since you entered this solar system. You didn't want Daveyy to freak out or anything, so you just never mentioned it. At least now you don't have to. You think it was purposeful anyway. Lesser ships have gone out farther than yours and were still able to communicate, but for whatever reason you had trouble sending and receiving messages from day one. This goes in line with your theory that they just wanted to be rid of Daveyy, but you're not too worried. If they want nothing more to do with you, then perfect. This planet seemed nice enough, and Daveyy really could be too soft sometimes.

 

He never really fit in on Alternia. Sure, he could maim like a champ, but who couldn't? Daveyy always had an issue with killing someone, though. Especially someone younger than him. That's probably why he wasn't given a conquest mission, only recon. Had Ohweyn stayed on-world and had his Lusus not been killed you have no doubt he would have been a great warrior. Ohweyn had the ruthlessness that Daveyy was lacking. He seems to have mellowed out a bit though.

 

You decide that tomorrow evening, after a good rest, you'll go out exploring. You don't think PJ would mind helping you pull together a disguise, and he did say he would come by later. You finally decide to unload and set up your own recuperacoon. You figure you'll be able to come up with a better plan after some rest. You're a bit too tall for your 'coon, so you have to curl up into a tight ball, but once you're suspended in the liquid green you feel much better. You'll have plenty of time to figure out this planet in the evening. Besides, you know you will be here for a very long time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> syntax cleaned up and owen's name changed to fit the six letter format


	3. Micah Becomes Relevant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah is in this chapter. Yay.  
> Edit: cleaned up inconsistencies, syntax, etc.

**== > PJ: Dream.**

You got home late last night. Your mother had fallen asleep on the couch. She probably realized you were gone around midnight, and tried to wait up for you so she could play 20 questions when you came back home around one in the morning, but she probably wasn't expecting to wait up for you until... what time was it anyway? You don't really care.

You sneak back to your room and lay on your bed. You fall asleep almost instantly; you don't even have the energy to take off your shoes.

When you sleep, you dream. Sometimes you dream of the future. Sometimes you dream of the past. You're never really sure, and you have trouble remembering your dreams when you wake up. But sometimes you do. Tonight's dream was weird.

Owen and the fishy alien were on some kind of ship. Probably the one they crashed, now that you think about it. Owen was scrubbing something off the floor and the other one was yelling at him. You couldn't hear what they were saying though. Owen had this smug look of triumph on his face and he was missing a few fangs. Teeth. Fangs? Teeth. He was missing a few teeth, and the fishy one had a line of purple down his face. He looked really frustrated. The tall one was standing in the corner, just watching the spectacle unfold. He looked like he found the entire thing amusing. Owen said something to the fishy one that made the fins on his face turn bright purple and flare out. He storms out of the room and Owen starts rolling on the floor with laughter. The tall one looks like he's trying not to laugh. He's biting his lip and a little bit of blue gathers around his eyes. He steps over Owen to go after the fishy boy.

The dream ripples into something different. You're with your brother on the roof of the abandoned hangar. You're maybe about 9 or 10 years old. You still can't hear anything, but you don't need to. You remember this conversation. You're looking at the stars, and Davey says that one day, he's gonna go out and see the stars. He looks at you and smiles. He says that sometimes he has dreams that he's a prince, and that traveling into space is his birthright. You both laugh. You tell him he'd be a pretty shitty prince. He bops you on the head and jokingly tells you to watch your language. You both laugh some more, before the dream fades into the next.

This one has sound, which surprises you. You're on a cliff, and you can hear water. You're sitting next to the alien, Owen, except he has lime green wings and is wearing red pajamas. You have your knees tucked up close to you but Owen lets his hang over the edge of the cliff. He sighs and looks at you like a teenage girl who just got majorly rejected. “I don't really know what I was expecting,” he says. He stands up and hovers a few inches off the ground, and smiles sadly. “Maybe in another life things could have been different.” He starts to drift away, but you reach up and grab his arm.

“Wait,” you look into his eyes, so full of life. He settles down, and you put both your hands on his shoulders. You're taller than him when his feet are on the ground, but not by much. His eyes are all yellow, with flecks of lime starting to show where his iris should be. They're scarce, but so bright, like the citrus fruit itself. “Wait,” you repeat, quieter. You pull him close, and hide your face in his soft pajamas. You can hear his heart. “I'm terrified,” you admit to him. “And, I don't know what to do,” you pause, and take a deep breath before continuing, “but... but I think I...”

Owen gently lifts your head so he can look into your eyes, “PJ.” Your heart feels like it's about to burst, but you're not sure from what. You're not sure if you should be smiling or if you should break down into tears. “Peeeeeeeeee Jaaaay,” you hear your name again, only it's not coming from Owen... Then where? You look around.

“Earth to Parker Jones, do you read me, Parker Jones?” you feel something jabbing your arm, and vaguely recall that this is just a dream. That thought worms its way into your brain, and the voice sounds vaguely familiar. “God, PJ wake up already, watching you sleep is  _so boring._ ”

Slowly, you open your eyes, wondering what all the fuss is about. “Finally!” Micah's about an inch away from your face, but he steps off once he sees your eyes start to come alive.

You pull a hand up to rub your eyes. “Geeze, Micah, I was dreaming,” you mutter. He's moved on to flipping through some of the comics on your dresser; he glances back at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh really?” He sets the comic back down on the dresser, and sits next to you on the bed. You notice you're still fully dressed, so you must have been exhausted last night. “What about?”

You pause for a minute, the dream already beginning to fade. You know it was important, and special, and you try to latch onto it, but suddenly it's gone. “I don't... I don't actually know.” You shrug. Maybe it wasn't as big of a deal as you thought if you could forget it so easily.

“Must not have been that interesting,” Micah comments.

You shrug again and mutter, “I guess you're right,” before changing the subject. “So, what brings you here so early?”

He gives you a look that basically translates to 'Were you dropped on your head as a child?' “Dude, it's like one in the afternoon. What time did you even go to sleep last night?”

You laugh slightly, “Pretty late.”

“Well, good thing you have me to act as a human alarm clock then to keep you from turning completely nocturnal.”

“Oh, Micah, my hero,” you bat your eye lashes at him before lightly shoving him in the shoulder. “Now get out so I can get dressed.”

“Urgh, whatever, just make it quick, there's something I wanna show you,”

Micah has always been a whiner. “Right right,” you say, as you get up to practically shove him out the door. Once he's gone you quickly shove on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt. You decide you don't really feel like brushing your hair, so you throw on your favorite striped hat, and while you're thinking about it you grab your zip up Spiderman hoodie. After putting on your shoes again, you leave your room and go to the living room where Micah is waiting.

“God, I practically died of old age, what took you so long?” Micah was already getting up off the couch and heading for the door. It looks like your parents have already left for work, so you won't have to explain your late night outing. Which was good. Micah was your best friend, and you hung out with him so often that you may as well have keys to each other's houses. Not that you would need them, anyway. Micah knew which rock was the one with the false bottom on your doorstep, and you knew how to get into Micah's house through the second story balcony, if his dad was ever out and he was still asleep and unable to answer the door. You smile at your friend as you slip on your hoodie.

“It only took me like two minutes tops,” you say as you zip up your jacket. “What is it you wanna show me anyway? Is it far?” you start walking towards your kitchen to leave a note on the fridge saying you were out with Micah. He follows behind you.

“It's a surprise. It's not too far, but it's on the edge of town, so it's not exactly on your front door step.” Edge of town? You wonder if he discovered the crash site as you attach your note to the fridge with a green magnet, and turn to head out.

“Well, let's get going then,” you smile, and Micah opens the front door for you. His bike is on its side in your yard, and yours is chained up to the front porch. You unlock it while Micah locks your front door and replaces the house key in one of the false rocks. You walk your bike down to the street and wait for Micah to lead the way. When he kicks off, he's going in the direction of the cemetery and your new alien friends.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you arrive at the edge of the crash site, except it's roped off with yellow caution tape, and men in suits stand around and look intimidating. You glance at your watch and notice that it's nearly two-o-clock.

“No fuckin' way!” You see Micah's face drop in pure disappointment as you arrive at the edge of the roped off area.

You tilt your head slightly. “What's all this about?” you mutter more to yourself than anyone. You hope the aliens are safe, but you're worried that they might have been discovered.

Micah looks at you, “This may sound crazy, but this morning there was some kind of weird wreckage here.” He gestures towards the caution tape. “But it looks like the authorities got to it before we could go mess around.” He scowls and sighs in frustration.

You frown and wonder if the officials were able to track the aliens back to their new hide out. You're not sure if you want to tell Micah about them just yet, but then again, you trust him more than anyone. And he would think you were acting suspicious if you just darted off towards the abandoned hangar without warning, so you decide that yes, you should tell him. Besides, you really want to check on your alien friends. You want to make sure that Owen kid is alright, and you want to know everything you can about them. You're pretty sure there's no way you can sneak out again tonight anyway, so this may be your only chance. You turn your bike around and give Micah the most serious look you can muster. “You have to promise not to telly  _anyone_  what I'm about to show you.”

Micah nods and silently follows behind you as you kick off and head in the direction of the hangar.  


	4. Troll Power Rangers is Totally a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palmer Institute [of Xeno Technology]: Enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter to 13 year old me, for developing an unhealthy maggot boy obsession shortly after 6th grade that never quite ended.
> 
> and Diet_Krillbits for providing me with a spark of motivation.
> 
> Hello dead fic, you are now twitching back to life. Congrats.  
> Anyway, based on my track record, if there isn't an update in like two months, then there probs won't be one in like two years, BUT I have this all transferred to my new laptop now, so I'll probs work on it here an there and ideally would like to have another update within a week or two.
> 
> any new chapters def won't be this short tho. honestly, the dread of writing this particular chapter is PROBABLY THE REASON WHY I PUT IT OFF FOR A BAZILLION YEARS. but i digress. its more i dont find this particular story thread interesting, but it is somewhat necessary in terms of keeping everything consistent.

**== > Samantha: Be a member of a shadowy quasi-governmental agency**

Your name is Sam Hyde, and today is just another ordinary day at the office, as far as you’re concerned. Granted, you don’t exactly have an office. And what the Palmer Institute of Xeno Technology does can’t exactly be considered ordinary by most standards. But ignoring those two things, it’s just another normal, _average_ day for you.

Ok, you’re kidding yourself, this is probably the most exciting day of your life! A real space craft! Right here! In _your_ division! Alien ships haven’t crashed on earth since the 1940’s Roswell incident, and you never even _dreamed_ that one would crash again in your lifetime!

But here it was, plain as day. You got the call at around 10 o’clock this morning. You figured it was just another weather balloon or meteorite spotted by some drunk country bumpkin but when you arrived at the site you nearly screamed in delight!

The ship itself was fairly modestly sized compared to the Roswell saucer (which, you studied personally during your first summer internship with the institute when you were 17) with only two separate chambers (presumably for storage and sleeping), what appeared to be a bathroom, and the control room. The strangest thing was, however, was that it was entirely empty. Judging by the size of the ship and seating capacity, the crew couldn’t have been any larger than four or five people. Whatever species this was, they must have some sort of advanced carrying system, and must have taken all their equipment with them after the crash.

This fact disappoints you. You were _sooo_ looking forward to examining any sort of alien tech you could find, but you suppose the ship itself will have to do. The first thing you do after arriving on the sight (and after successfully resisting the urge to squeal as loudly as possible) is call in the cleanup crew. As much as you would _love_ to examine the ship on-sight, it’s unfortunately too close to town to risk it. Who _knows_ who has already seen the ship? The most important thing right now is damage control.

Once Noah, your supervisor, confirms that a cleanup crew is on the way, you snap on your handy dandy gloves, and begin collecting samples from in and around the ship. Noah had said that it would take about an hour for the crew to get there, and another hour for the ship to be moved to a secure location in your district. The Palmer Institute of Xeno Technology had access to some of the best military bases in the world, and lucky for you the Sovern City Air Force Base was one of the 10 places deemed ‘secure’ enough to house salvaged alien technology. Which means that you’ll more than likely get started studying the ship before the afternoon is even over!

While you wait for cleanup to arrive, you busy yourself bagging suspicious substances from around the crash site. Prominently featured amongst the debris is a strange green substance, dry in some areas, but wet and sticky in others. You scoop it up into some vials, doing your best to avoid sweeping up dirt and dust along with it.

A flash of red catches your eye, and you notice a piece of red cloth soaked with green discarded on the edge of the crash site. You bag that too. It could be worth looking into.

The cleanup crew arrive about 20 minutes earlier than estimated, with Noah himself leading the small caravan in his tiny black Saturn.

“Noah!” you practically screech at him as he slams the driver side door behind him. He rarely shows up on site to anything, but you suppose he made an exception considering the _actual alien space craft_ that crash landed. You trot up to him, lab coat billowing out behind you and back pack nearly overflowing with samples and metal fragments. “How long do you think it’ll take to get it loaded onto the truck?” you ask, getting straight to business. “I can’t _wait_ to really get inside that thing and take it apart!”

Noah pokes at his phone for a few moments before answering you. “It’s a bit smaller than anticipated,” he says, “So maybe only about 45 minutes.”

“Awesome!” you reply.

He signals to his men to begin loading the ship using the crane they had backed right up to the crash site, while another group begins to rope off the area with bright yellow tape. “What are your preliminary observations?” he asks you, getting straight to work.

“The ship doesn’t appear to be operational,” you start, adopting a more serious tone. “When we entered it to do an initial sweep for life forms or technology, the place was completely empty, although the on board computer systems did appear to briefly resume operations, but…” you trail off, not sure if your supervisor would be pleased with this next bit of information.

Noah raises an eyebrow at you, looking up from his phone where he had begun taking notes. “Go on…” he urges.

You sigh and let your shoulders slump forward. “It appears to have only turned on to initiate a complete data wipe. We weren’t able to salvage _any_ digital information.”

Noah notes that down, and you perk up slightly as you continue. “However, it appears that all the hardware that wasn’t damaged in the crash is totally intact.”

At this, Noah looks up and lets out a stunned and quiet, “Really?”

“Uh-huh!” you reply, excitement creeping back into your tone once more. “Not even the Roswell Saucer was this complete! If I had to make a guess, I’d say that only the propulsion engines and body of the ship sustained much damage, which means we might be able to completely salvage this one!”

**== > Noah: Be completely stunned.**

Your name is Noah, and saying you are completely stunned is a massive understatement. If what Dr. Hyde’s saying is true (and you didn’t doubt it was- there was a reason she’s the top scientist in her division, possibly even the whole institute) then this would be the find of the century.

You ask Dr. Hyde if she had pictures of the ships interior, to which she replies “Of course!” and hands you the digital camera dangling from her wrist.

You begin to scroll through the various pictures, and even though most of the rooms are empty, you are still amazed at how little damage the interior actually sustained. The inside of the ship is mostly a deep violet, matching the outside of the ship. You idly wonder what kind of metal makes up the ship when you get to the next set of photos.

“Fascinating…” you mumble as you scroll through close ups of what appears to be _movie posters_ of all things. If you didn’t know any better, you’d bet money that one of the posters was just a poorly photo shopped _power rangers_ poster of all things. A purple ranger with ornate horns stood next to what appeared to be a pure white tyrannosaurus rex, with a wall of alien text superimposed over top of it.

You’re snapped out of your musing when Dr. Hyde chirps “I know, right?” from directly over your shoulder. You jump slightly. It always surprised you how quietly she could move when she really wanted to. Perhaps, you should just pay better attention to your surroundings, but you dismiss that thought.

“That room was _covered_ in posters,” she continues unprompted as you scroll through more poster close-ups. “If I had to guess, I’d say that room served as some sort of personal quarters.”

“What do you think these symbols are?” you ask as you notice many of the movie posters are nearly half text. “Their written language?”

“Ohhh,” Dr. Hyde replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I _hope_ so! With this many text samples, it should be a synch to at least get started translating the language. Certainly much easier than if we had nothing to go on.”

You nod in agreement, feeling Dr. Hyde’s contagious excitement wearing away on your stoic, professional façade.

Before you know it, the ship is loaded onto the truck, and the rest of the crew is working away on clearing the debris. As far as the public was concerned, a government aircraft had crashed on a routine test flight. It may seem a bit cliché, but cliché was good. Cliché meant that the only people who would bother asking questions were the people who would automatically be labeled as crack pots anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also the Troll Power Rangers poster is totally Davey's. Because reasons. 
> 
> ALSO ALSO if you want to drop prompts in the comments, that'd be totally gr999. (that means more than gr8) because it would make it easier to keep motivated with this yep.


	5. Pale Voyeurism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so heres the chapter i wanted to write when i first started this a bazillion years ago
> 
> i might change it later cause theres some mood whiplash that im not sure how i feel about, but ah well.
> 
> constructive feedback always welcome

**== > Micah: Contemplate what warrants such secrecy.**

It was a bit of a ride to the abandoned hangar. But you knew it by heart. After PJ’s brother died, he started taking you out here because he wanted to make some new happy memories out here with his best friend, in the hopes that it wouldn’t always stand as a reminder of his deceased sibling.

You and he spent a lot of nights out here. You even shared your first kiss on the hangar’s roof, before vowing _never_ to do that again, because even if you both were _hella_ gay, it was just _way_ too weird. Like kissing your brother, or cousin. Every once in a while though, you’ll give PJ a peck on the cheek, or forehead. You’re not too sure how to explain it, but you really do love your best friend, just not in a sexual way. He’s one of the few people you would do anything to protect, and you know that he would do the same for you.

When you get to the hangar, he tells you to “Wait here,” and “Promise you won’t freak out.” You raise an eyebrow and nod. It’s not like you’ve never been to the creepy abandoned building before. You decide to just humor him. You watch as he goes up to the door, and knocks three times before motioning for you to _Stay Put_ and entering.

You hear the sound of muffled voices coming from the building, one of them PJ’s, but the other unrecognizable. Had PJ made friends with a friendly neighborhood vagabond recently or something? Oh god, what if it was a serial murderer? Of _course_ PJ would make friends with a serial killer. That would be so like him. You decide that if he’s not back out in five minutes, you’re going in after him, promises to stay put be damned.

**== > Be the friendly neighborhood vagabond.**

You are now Daveyy. It’s the middle of the day when you hear a loud banging on the door. You had been having trouble sleeping all day, and were already sitting on the edge of wakefulness, so it wasn’t too inconvenient to climb out of your ‘coon to investigate.

When you went to stretch your legs earlier that morning (after being rudely startled from sleep by a local cawbeast), you learned that this planet’s sun wasn’t nearly as bright or deadly, a fact which you were thankful for. You had gotten so used to the constant lights onboard the ship, that when you crawled out of your coon for the first time, you walked right through a patch of sunlight pouring in from a hole in the roof. On instinct, you had started screaming like a freshly hatched grub once you realized that it was natural, and not artificial light (not that you would admit to it if anyone asked you later), but after noticing that you had not, in fact, burst into flames, you breathed a sigh of relief.

So when the pounding persisted, accompanied by a familiar voice shouting “Hey, are you guys still there?” You got up, scraped as much of the sopor off and back into your ‘coon as you could, and decaptchalogued a towel to wrap around your middle before trudging over to the door.

You open the door and yawn a little before muttering, “Hey Peejay, what brings you by so early?”

He looks at you confused. “It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he says.

You manage to mumble a brief “Nocturnal,” before ushering Peejay inside and out of the light. It may not be as deadly as Alternia’s sun, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Peejay says. “I can come back later, if that’s more convenient...” He seems to find something very interesting on his sneakers.

You wave him off and yawn. “Don’t worry about it kid,” you say, hoping to sound reassuring. “I was plannin’ on getting up early tonight anyway.” He seems to brighten up at that, and your gills flutter uncomfortably in the open air.

“Just a sec,” you say as you decaptchalouge your lounge clothes- the purple Troll Power Ranger T-shirt and a pair of purple sweat pants. Peejay’s jaw drops as he watches your clothes seemingly materialize from nowhere before you put them on. _They probably don’t have sylladexes on this planet_ , you realize. That must be terrible inefficient. You pull on your pants before recaptchalouging your towel, and feel so much more comfortable with your gills covered again.  

You plop down in the debris pile from last night, and motion for Peejay to do the same. He hesitates a little before complying, which you understand- sitting in a pile together _is_ a bit inherently intimate, even if you weren’t touching, but you really didn’t want your guest to be uncomfortable. “So, what’s up?” you ask.

“Well,” Peejay starts, “I was wondering if it was ok if I introduced you to-“ He’s suddenly cut off by a loud banging on the door.

“Peejay!” an unfamiliar voice yells. “I swear to god if you got yourself murdered I am not gonna be the one to tell your mom!”

You’re a bit surprised as he flushes a shade of red you’ve never seen before and weakly finishes with, “A friend.”

You crack a smile and gesture to the door. “That your friend?” you ask, and Peejay nods in reply, face buried in his hands, presumably in embarrassment.

“Well,” you say, lounging back onto the pile, “He’s already here. May as well invite him in.”

Peejay smiled at you like a 3 sweep old wriggler on 12th Perigee’s eve. You feel an odd rise of pride in your chest, and wonder if this is how ancestors feel if they hear about the success of their descendants. As you watch him scramble up and over to the door, you decide that it’s probably not far off.

**== > Micah: Rescue your friend from murderous hobos.**

After PJ’s five minutes are up, you waltz up to the door and knock three times as loudly as possible, before proclaiming that if PJ gets murdered, you will not be the one informing his mother.

You hear indistinguishable voices and the sound of footsteps approaching the door, and you tap your foot impatiently as you wait for someone (preferably PJ) to open it.

When the steel door opens you are quickly pulled into the abandoned hangar by a familiar set of hands. PJ’s voice is hushed when he speaks. “Promise you won’t flip out on me, ok?”

You nod. “What do you take me for, PJ? This is like the millionth time you’ve said that.”

He grins, and leads you over to what looks to be a haphazard pile of stuff. That’s when you notice him. Sitting right there, amongst the junk, is the demonic fish ghost of none other than _Jeremiah David Jones._

Holy _shit_. The _last_ thing you expected was for Davey Jones to crawl up as some mutated freak from Davey Jones’ Locker itself. You gape, open mouthed and at a loss for words as PJ gestures to you by way of introduction. “This is my friend Micah.” He says.

“Micah, this is…” he trails off as he gestures from you to his brother’s ghost. “I’m sorry,” he says to the demon, “I don’t think I caught any of your names except for Owen’s…”

The merdemon smiles, and it’s all sharp fangs. “Davey,” he says. “Davey Jones.”

You glance at PJ and notice he’s gone completely pale. You glance back to Davey, who seems to have noticed PJ’s lack of color. You look to PJ again and stutter a bit before finally managing to speak as calmly as possible. “PJ,” you start, “Would you mind explaining to me why you’re introducing me to the _fish ghost_ of your _dead brother?”_

Davey merely looks between you two confused. “What’s a brother?” he asks.

**== > PJ’s Shit: Flip**

You don’t know how. You don’t know why. But somehow, someway, the _alien_ who looks _uncannily like your dead brother_ (so uncannily in fact, that even _Micah_ sees it, meaning, no, you aren’t reading too much into the alien’s appearance) has the _exact same name as your dead brother._

“B-but how?” you start, “Why?” You turn to Micah, not sure what to really say. “H-he’s not a ghost!” falls out of your mouth once you finished processing your friend’s words. “He’s an alien,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Micah raises a skeptical eyebrow at you, arms crossed.

“Actually, I’m a troll,” Davey pipes up, in some misguided attempt to be helpful.

You feel your breath coming fast, and your chest tightens. Davey stands up and reaches out as if to touch you, before pausing, not really sure what to do.

Micah grabs your arm and carefully helps you to a sitting position in his lap on the floor. “Just breathe,” he tells you, and you start to take shaky breaths, in and out, in and out.

Davey backs off a bit, seemingly satisfied that Micah is there to help calm you down. “I know it’s not my place,” he begins, sitting back down in the pile across from you, “but are you alright? Did I do something wrong?” He sounds genuinely worried.

You laugh a little, and can feel Micah glaring at the alien while he rubs soothing circles on your arms. “I thought I was just, y’know, seeing things,” you start, in between shaky breaths. “You look so much like him, but it’s ok, ‘cause you’re not him,” you feel tears start to well up in your eyes. “But then you have his-“ and you can’t continue because you’re breathing too hard and you can hear the blood pumping in your ears and o god this is it you might actually die right here.

“PJ, shhh, just focus on breathing,” Micah says when you begin shaking. Had you been more aware, you would have noticed Davey’s face flushing a deep violet at the display.

While you concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths, Micah took the liberty of explaining for you. “You look like some weird, color swap version of his brother with horns and fins.”

“I still don’t know what a brother is…” Davey mutters, averting his eyes from Micah’s affectionate display.

Micah sighs. “They have the same parents.”

Davey hazards a glance at you and Micah, though you only barely notice it. “Parents?” He sounds genuinely confused.

“Genetic donors,” Micah explains with a groan. “Whatever, it’s not important,” he continues before the alien can ask any more questions. “What matters is they were really close, you look just like him, and he’s dead.”

A look of understanding seemed to pass over Davey’s face. “I remind you of your deceased broodmate…” he mutters.

Micah snorts at that, just as you feel yourself beginning to calm down. The world is no longer moving so fast. “It’s more than that,” you mumble quietly into Micah’s chest. “I can handle that, but-“ you stop, not wanting to be the one to verbalize the connection.

Micah does it for you. “You have the same name,” he deadpans.          

**Author's Note:**

> If you seen any problems, let me know. Constructive criticism is loved. Consistency will be loose.


End file.
